


if you call me (i will be waiting)

by Metronomeblue



Series: imagine me & you- forever [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen comes sweeping in like some fresh-faced asshole, Arranged Marriage, Biting, But whatever, Chess, Creampie, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Time, Flirting, For once Aizen isn't the one doing the abusing, I hate that tag so much, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Remarkable, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhappy marriage, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, ask me about my Aizen Denial Phase, but on the edge of it, chess as foreplay, not infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronomeblue/pseuds/Metronomeblue
Summary: Aizen, recently made Captain, becomes intrigued by a young noblewoman, married unhappily to someone he needs to influence. His feelings almost override his sense.Almost





	if you call me (i will be waiting)

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was for Aizen wanting somebody who was already taken, which was like. hm. because I'm pretty leery of infidelity in general. So this isn't outright infidelity, but there's a definite leaning to it. Like it's clear they want each other but there's no outright cheating.

You had been married for a very long time. An arranged marriage, and a political one. You never saw your husband. He never made any attempt at friendship, let alone romance. He’d never spoken to you with any feeling other than disapproval or distant politeness. You hadn’t been touched with softness, with love, in decades. You grew used to it, as people in uncomfortable situations do. You coped.

As minor nobility, your husband did his best to curry favor among the influential and powerful in the Seireitei. He had you arrange parties, dinners, meetings. You quickly became well-known to the staff and servants of every noble house, the messengers and Third Seats of the Gotei. You did your best to support him, but more often than not your guests came at your request, rather than his, desired to sit across from you, rather than him.

This only served to upset him. He told you to leave it all to him. Every attempt to help him only made him angrier, every attempt to keep quiet foiled by a well-meaning guest asking your opinion. You drew further and further back, away from any almost-friends you’d made, allowing your husband to make the arrangements and invitations. The acceptances dwindled, the seating arrangements circling smaller and smaller around the two of you.

After a while, no one came at all.

So Captain Aizen was something of a surprise.

He came at the behest of your husband, to help him mend some mistake he’d made. They spoke while you poured the tea, and though you never saw his eyes so much as stray towards you, you felt as though you were being observed. The next time he visited it was to return something your husband had left at his office.

“If you might show me the way, I could replace it?” He asked. He smiled kindly at you, and something in you screamed  _false_.

“Of course, Captain,” you said. “Right this way.” He could tell you didn’t believe him, because his smile settled, became less kind. It was more real than anything else you’d seen of him, and it almost set you at ease.

“Does he often leave you alone?” The Captain asked, and you inhaled sharply.

“Many men leave their wives alone,” you evaded the question, unlocking your husband’s study door with lightly shaking hands.

“Yes,” he agreed easily. “I suppose they do.”

He came back, was the thing. None of your husband’s guests came back. (Except the prostitutes, but you could hardly begrudge them their profession.) Captain Aizen returned, over and over, for dinner, for work. Sometimes even when your husband was gone. He spun some tale for your husband’s peace of mind- something about being alone so often, about an old man’s desire for friendship and a change of scenery. But he wasn’t as old as he wanted everyone to think, wasn’t as harmless.

And he watched you.

It might be frightening, if you hadn’t spent the last fifty years being systematically beaten down and backed into corners of your own making. It might be terrifying, to a young girl with wide eyes and a soft heart.

You were neither.

“You’re very beautiful, (y/n).” It came out of nowhere, or it would have if you hadn’t been watching him watch you for the last hour. He brought his sake bowl to his lips again and you blinked.

“That’s a very forward observation,” you replied. It was an evasive response and he knew it. Move, counter-move.

“You make me a very forward man,” he teased, and you could see the game beginning to unfurl behind his eyes.  _King to E-4._

“You’ve been taking classes from Captain Kyouraku,” you said, pouring yourself another glass.  _Pawn to C-5._

“He’d never teach me anything,” the Captain said, with a wry grin that felt almost genuine. “Too much work.”  _Knight to C-5. Knight takes Pawn._

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to learn from anyone,” you mused, and you could see the blow land.  _Rook to C-5. Rook takes Knight._

“No,” he admitted, finally, honestly. “I was always too clever.” He eyed you carefully. “And you, my lady?”  _Pawn to C-3. Pawn takes Pawn._

“I had a great many teachers.” Evasive.  _Rook to B-5._

“But did you ever learn?” He asked, mirth in his eyes.  _Pawn to D-3._

“Not enough,” you said, and something tired and cold filled your voice.  _Knight to D-2._

“Not enough for you, or not enough for your husband?”  _Pawn to E-3._ There was a strange kind of sympathy in his tone, and it frightened you like nothing he’d ever done before. The alcohol, the conversation, the lust and affection you could feel simmering between the two of you- suddenly it was all too much. Suddenly, you couldn’t go on like this.

“For anyone, it sometimes seems.”  _Knight to E-3. Knight takes Pawn. Checkmate._  Conversation over. You smiled falsely at him, and the flash of hurt in his face was welcome to your spite. Good. See how it feels. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening.” He set down his drink, eyes narrowed. Trying to find the source of your sudden evasiveness. You stood, turned away, collecting things onto a tray, cleaning up the room so your husband wouldn’t ask questions come the morning. You were good together. You and Aizen. You could be so good, if only you weren’t already married.

“I have.” Damn him. If he hadn’t come, you wouldn’t be thinking this. You’d be alright living your life just like you did before. You wouldn’t suddenly be evaluating whether or not you were happy, you wouldn’t-

“Wonderful. I’m sure my husband will be glad to hear it,” you said, desperate for the night to end, for this dangerous feeling in your chest to leave you and let you get back to your miserable life.

“Leave it.” His voice was suddenly warm. Commanding, but not sharp. Fond, even. “You’re not a maid.” He was behind you. Close. He leaned forward, and you were suddenly aware of the height of him against you, the way his warmth stretched from your feet to your head. He took the tray from your hands, lightly, and set it down on the table.  He pressed his nose into your hair, and then a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re not  _his_ maid.” The offense with which he said it, the realization that he was  _upset_  for you, nearly shorted out your brain.

“My husband-” You began, and felt his hands descend on your shoulders, feather-light. Softly, as though you were something delicate and fine. You could feel the warmth of them but not the weight, and it set off a buzzing in your stomach.

“He’s an abusive, arrogant fool,” Aizen said, his face still turned into you hair, his hands still resting on your shoulders, just a little too softly to get used to. “And he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Captain,” you said quietly, and it should have been a reproach, some kind of righteous fury, anything but the shameful plea it was. A plea for ignorance, for him to turn his head and look away.  _I know,_  it said. _I know, and I can’t bear for you to know, too._

“Call me Sosuke,” he corrected you in a low, soft voice, one hand slipping down your arm to tangle his fingers with yours. “He doesn’t recognize what a precious thing he has.”

“Captain, please,” you begged, for a reprieve, for more, you didn’t know.

“Sosuke,” he repeated, and there was a curious force to his tone. “(Y/n), call me by my name.”

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, feeling the shake in both your legs and your voice, just on the edge of tears.

“Because he might not see what he has,” his lips caressed the shell of your ear, the warmth of his breath on your neck raising every sensation further. “But I do. And I want you,” he pressed his nose into your hair, a sigh passing his lips. “Do you have any idea, (y/n)? How long it’s been since I’ve  _wanted_  someone?”

You shook your head slightly, overwhelmed and wanting and so tired of giving love and loyalty to someone who appreciated none of it.

“Centuries,” he breathed, his other hand creeping down your side to rest on your hip. “You are exceptional, (y/n). Your intellect, your beauty, your loyalty. Your kindness and faithfulness… is it really any surprise that I should want these things? That I should want you for them?”

“I’m not the only person with those qualities,” you said, trembling. Struggling to stand firm against such a tide of praise and desire as you hadn’t heard in years. It had been so long since anyone had touched you with such feeling, had spoken to you with such regard.

“No,” he agreed, drawing you in closer until your back was pressed to his strong chest, until you could feel the warmth of him through his many layers of clothing.

“And I don’t have any of them in such a measure,” you continued, his acceptance of your statement giving you courage. “I am not as remarkable as you wish for me to be, Captain.”

“(Y/n),” he said, his mouth glancing across your neck in the barest of kisses as he spoke. “You could see yourself as the most unremarkable person in the world. That perception of yourself doesn’t change who you truly are.”

“And who am I?” You gasped, as his teeth dragged across the bare skin of your shoulder. Your knees shook, the physical stimulus and emotional turmoil splitting you in every direction.

“Someone worth loving,” he said, and your knees buckled. He caught you, one strong arm wound firmly, gently around the front of your waist. Pulling you up to almost your full height, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I’m not,” you said, tears finally breaking free. His face changed, caught somewhere between hunger and concern. He turned you to face him, but kept his arm around your waist. If he hadn’t, you would have fallen.

“(Y/n)-” you cut him off, covering your face with your hands.

“Here you are, telling me I’m all these things, when really I’m just-” you broke off, roughly wiping your tears away. “Look how easily I fall into your arms! Faithful? Look at what I am, Captain. Look at the desperate, ugly person I am, so starved for affection I’d do anything for anyone.”

“Starved,” Aizen corrected you, wiping a tear from your face with a strange, hard tenderness. “You said it yourself. He has starved you for love and affection. “ You tried to turn, but his hands caught your face between them, and he forced you to look at him. Despite yourself, you leaned into his touch. “Desperate, perhaps,” he said softly, almost to himself. “But not ugly. And I doubt very much you’d do  _anything_  for anyone, even at your lowest. And certainly not for me.” The kindness brought more tears to your eyes, and he watched them fall with fascination.

“I’m sorry,” you said, choked and small.

“Don’t be. You’re beautiful when you cry,” he said offhandedly, still distracted by the sight of you.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, breathless with confusion and pain. This was no game. This was decades of repressed emotion rising up in the presence of someone you didn’t know if you could trust.

“Hush,” he said, pressing you into his chest, one hand curled through your hair, the other curled around your hip. “You needn’t apologize, (y/n).” You breathed him in, ink and paper and the faintest hint of roses. You reached up, hesitantly, to clutch at the back of his haori. He moved into your touch, encouraging it. “I should think we know each other well enough for a few tears, now.” He was silent, for a long stretch. Just letting you learn to breathe again in the silence and the darkness. His hands were warm and unyielding on your body. He was quiet. You were grateful.

“I don’t love him,” you said, finally, into the warmth of his chest.

“I should hope not,” he chuckled softly, but there was very little humor in his voice. His hands moved, stretched possessively over you, your hair, your waist. “Not when he so clearly doesn’t love you,” he muttered.

“But he’s my husband,” you grit out, frustration and anger leaking through. “I married him.”

“You were told to. Forced. And why should you stay married?” He asked sharply. “Why should you be bound to someone who makes no effort to act as your husband?” His hands slid down your body and you shivered, caught between your own furious self-denial and the softness of his hands, the warmth of his skin. “Does he touch you?” He asked, one hand curling around your waist. “Does he make love to you?” His other hand crept to your thigh, just brushing down the outside of your leg. Not enough. Too much. “Has he ever told you he loves you? Do you believe he’s ever even thought it?”

“Please,” you said, releasing your grip on him and pulling away. He let you go, hands still half-closed, as if unwilling to release you. “Captain, I can’t do this.”

“No,” he said solemnly, regretfully, hands flexing at his sides. “I don’t believe either of us can.” But he looked at you, still, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them and hungry for the sight of you. “But know this, (y/n)- if you would seek the happiness and love he has denied you,” and here he paused, looking away as if this was too much to admit. “You need only call my name.” He looked back, and that piercing gaze was too much.

“I can’t,” you whispered again, looking down so you wouldn’t have to see his face.

“I know,” he said, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Those sharp, cold eyes never leaving your face, still flushed and stained with tears. “But I think you will.”

He left you there, trembling with the force of your desire for him.

The next time you saw him, he was a guest again. Your husband sent for you to bring the tea. He ordered you about like a servant and sent you away until he wanted you back. You watched Aizen, and he smiled, and it was false. He laughed with your husband, and it was false. He watched you, and the ice in his eyes was true. It terrified you in a way you couldn’t explain.

Worse than that, it made your heart warm at the sight of him.

You kept seeing him, after that, and you marveled that there was ever a time you weren’t fatally, unbearably aware of his presence in your life. He seemed to be everywhere, nowhere, beside you. Always.

And then he really was beside you.

Your husband, oblivious, ungainly fool that he was, was prattling on to Aizen about some politics he likely didn’t understand. You came up beside them silently, attendant and available as any good wife would be.

“Ah, (y/n)! It’s Captain Aizen! You remember him? He’s often our guest! Of course you don’t, you’re an idiot. He’s the captain of the Fifth Division. Well come on! Bow to him! You useless cow.” You bowed, then sank deeper when your husband pressed down on the back of your head. You looked up at Aizen from under your eyelashes, and were startled. There was something profoundly ugly in his expression. It was neither the composed sharpness he hid nor the mild-mannered mask he wore. It was a very flawed, human expression. Like a restrained fury, a power that swelled and battered at his careful, polite mask. Nevertheless, he wiped it away for a pleasant smile when your husband turned back to him, content with the depth of your prostration.

“Captain,” you acknowledged him, voice low, formal and yet familiar. More honest than you’d like. His eyes softened, just a little. After a pause, he bowed in return. You felt your heart lurch in your chest. To show you such respect, and none to your husband… It was obvious. It would be obvious, to any who saw or heard, what his intention was.

“Lady (y/l/n),” he returned, his voice deepening, pressing on the edge of respect, verging on admiration, just enough to make you shiver.

“Oh, Captain, you needn’t show her such a courtesy!” Your husband laughed. “She’s just a dumb girl from a minor house!” You swallowed, and you could feel your own mask slipping. It wasn’t often he was with you for such a long period of time, and hearing the things he told you repeated in front of someone you held such regard for- and who held some kind of regard for you, in return- it was more than you could safely bear. The shame pressed down on you. Aizen’s  words had pushed back some of your doubt since he’d whispered them to you in the darkness, but it returned full force in the face of your husband. Wouldn’t he now realize what you really were? Some scared, twisted thing scrambling for any scrap of light or affection? Wouldn’t he see what you’d told him was true? No matter what he’d said then, he must surely be reevaluating it now.

“On the contrary, my Lord,” Aizen said, and the careful balance of his voice said far more than any obvious anger would have. “Such a woman deserves great respect.”

“Oh, of course! Of course! But you know my wife!” And here you almost winced because yes, he did know you. Better than almost anyone. “She’s no lady!” The tension built between you, unnoticed by your husband. You felt the strain pressing down. Oh goodness. What if he killed your husband in the middle of town? He’d have no chance. Aizen was highly trained and extraordinarily powerful. Your husband was an idiot. Would it even take him very long? One swing and he could have your husband’s head.

“Cap’n Aizen?” You had never before in your life wanted to fling your arms around Lieutenant Ichimaru and thank him profusely, but by all the gods who can be named, you wanted to then. Aizen himself was clearly feeling the same relief as he cleared his throat.

“Gin. What is it?” You watched with fascination as his shoulders almost visibly sank.

“Official business. The private kind.” Ichimaru sent a jagged grin at your husband. “If these two can spare you, that is.”

“Oh, of course! Of course!” Your husband’s accommodating nature apparently only extended to nobility and military personnel. If he’d ever been so kind to you. You almost rolled your eyes at him. Sadly, your etiquette teacher had trained you too well for that.

“Captain,” you repeated, this time a farewell, and bobbed into a short bow.

“My lady,” he said, and the emphasis he placed on it almost took you aback. Ichimaru looked between the two of you and raised an eyebrow. You returned the favor pointedly, and the mocking edge to his smile faded into a kind of respect.

You supposed it was the best you’d get out of him.

Your husband puffed some kind of flourished goodbye, but nobody listened. Your eyes were still locked on Aizen’s and Gin was watching the two of you with an undisguised glee.

“Farewell,” Aizen finally said to him, not sparing him a glance. “Come, Gin.”

You watched them leave with a strange kind of swelling hope in your chest.

You’d ignored him. For a whole five minutes you’d ignored your husband. The world hadn’t ended. You hadn’t spontaneously combusted. You had all but forgotten him. You could forget him, given the chance.

You could leave.

It suddenly occurred to you that you could _leave._

“I’m petitioning to annul our marriage,” you said, eyes still following the path of Aizen and his Lieutenant had traced. Still in awe. You hardly heard the words come out, you were still struck numb by them.

“What?” Your husband asked, his eyes near popping out of his head.

“You heard me,” you said calmly, an unkind smile stretching across your mouth. “It’s been fifty years. You have systematically destroyed my hope, my self-esteem, and any friendships I might once have had. You are cruel and vain and cold. We’ve never slept together. You haven’t given me a child. You have given me no other option. So I’m petitioning to annul our marriage. What reason do I have not to? Do you believe anyone will deny such a case?”

“You can’t do this! You- you’re!”

“I’m not your _property_ , is what I am. I am not your maid. I am not your servant,” you said, still quiet. Still smiling. “Do you think we can discuss this in a civilized manner? Or will we have to take it to the Saiban Rikon?” He paused, as though you were a stranger. As though you were not the person he believed you to be.

Good.

The person he believed you to be was small. Weak.  _Gone._

“I’ll file the papers,” he said finally. Dully.

“How kind of you,” you said. He escorted you home.  Silence stretched between you like a wire. He didn’t know what to say. You had nothing to say. The papers were almost unbelievably simple. An agreement to annul the contract which had bound you, an agreement to leave with your own belongings and nothing else.

And then you were free.

You rushed across town. It had been so long since you’d run anywhere, your heart beat like thunder in your chest. You laughed, because you felt alive. WHen you reached the Fifth Division barracks, you were glad to recognize the face on guard.

“Excuse me?” The two guards both looked down, and you tried to fight back your smile. “Lieutenant Ichimaru, right?”

“What did he do this time?” The other man laughed, and Ichimaru shot him a menacing smile.

“Nothing. I was hoping… Could you tell me if Captain Aizen is in?”

“In ‘is rooms, ma’am,” Ichimaru said, leaning over the railing. “Second floor, across the training yard. He’s off shift until the morning. Lucky you, huh?”

“You’d hope so,” you shot back, still grinning more widely than you had in years. They let you through, and you ran to the stairs.

“Captain?” You asked, knocking lightly at the door. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Never, (y/n),” he assured you, opening the door. He had a spot of ink on his wrist, just where his sleeve fell away. It made your smile wider. How had you gone your whole life not knowing you could feel like this? How had you never seen it before? You watched his eyes flick over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, wide smile. His own mouth ticked up at the corner in response.

“I have something to tell you,” you said, still faintly out of breath. “Good news.”

“Let me guess,” he said, the goodwill in his face fading. “You and your husband have finally come to terms. He’s begun to see you for the person you are.”

“What?” You laughed. “I mean, I suppose you could say that.” His face hardened, and he turned, making his way to a cabinet on the other side of the room.

“Good,” he said, and if you didn’t know him so well you wouldn’t have heard the bitterness in his voice. “I’m glad for you. I wish you both well.” You stepped in, even though he hadn’t invited you.

“Do you really think I care about him?” You asked, almost laughing at the ridiculous conclusion he’d come to. “Surely, Captain, you know how I feel for you.” He turned back, another brush in his hand.

“Yes, you  _feel_  for me. And what of your husband?” He asked, something cruel twisting at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve come to such good terms of necessity, have you not? He holds your life fast in his hands.”

“He has never held my heart,” you said, and it might have sounded false if it weren’t so fucking  _true_. “That aside, he has no hold on me now.” He scoffed and looked away from you, something wounded and braced in his shoulders. He leaned back, as if preparing for a blow.

“I will not do this only to have you regret it,” Aizen told you, something sharp and untouchable in his voice. When he looked at you, his eyes were thin, pulled back behind those glasses like a shield. You stepped forward, still outside of his reach, still distant, but closer now. Closer. He took a step back, as though he didn’t know he was doing it. You kept your gaze fixed on his, your face still and steady, solid as stone.

“Sosuke,” you called, and there was a world of want and restrained desire in your voice. He paused, turned back, examining you. Evaluating the sound of his name on your tongue. Your commitment. He stood, frozen, in his office, his eyes locked on yours, your heart beating so loudly you wondered if he could hear it. The brush fell from his hand. Then, his dark eyes widened, and he reached forward, his hands around your face bringing you closer, crushing your mouth to his. His lips were soft and firm, and hot on yours, and when his tongue probed at the seam of your lips, you opened to him. Obliging, yearning. Starved for him. His teeth nipped at your lips, his tongue traced the spine of your teeth, his lips moved against yours and he reached for you.

“(Y/n),” he said, pulling away, breathless and beautiful.

“Sosuke,” you repeated, reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. “I  _love_  you.” His whole body froze for a second. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked genuinely pained for a moment.

“I-” His hands slipped down your face to your neck, then down the curve of your shoulders. He shook his head and leaned in to kiss you again. He stepped closer, closer, so your bodies were flush. You could feel your breasts pushing against his chest, could feel the warmth between his legs, pressing into your thigh. His mouth slipped across your jaw, down to your neck. You let out a moan when he bit at the patch of skin beneath your ear, the softness where your jaw ended. He clutched you more firmly to him, his fingers digging into your hip, and redoubled his efforts. Your hands clenched in his haori, your head thrown back.

You felt pinned, spread open.

“Sosuke,” you gasped, his tongue laving over the places he’d bitten and sucked. He smiled into the side of your neck.

“How long has it been for you?” He asked, voice deep and rough with desire. Those wandering hands slipped down to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into your flesh.

“Well,” you said sheepishly. He paused.

“Never?” He asked, and he sounded truly surprised. You tilted your head. “I simply believed… It doesn’t matter.”

“Sosuke?” You asked, as he bent down about an inch. Then, you let out a strangled yelp as he lifted you.

“It’s my honor,” Sosuke said, brown eyes boring into yours. “And my genuine pleasure.” His hands wrapped around your legs like hot iron, and he laid you down on his bed with ease. You fell backward, your yukata opening around your legs and leaving you feeling even more exposed than before. He settled over you, naked hunger on his face. It was like having the wind knocked out of you. His knees straddling you, his arms on either side of your face. That white haori fluttering down and brushing your bare legs. “Look at you,” he muttered, sitting back on his knees. One knuckle traced down your cheek. “All mine.”

“Always,” you breathed, leaning into the touch. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. Taking you in like you were all he’d ever wanted. Like he couldn’t get enough. He reached down, those clever hands undoing your sash, unwinding the knots and unfolding it. You arched up, lifting your hips beneath his so he could pull it out from under you. The slightest contact between your hips and the hardness of his was blazing. He let out a hiss. He shucked his haori and kosode quickly, unlacing his hakama with practiced ease. When he came forward again, he grasped your wrists together in one hand, and you bent to his will.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he purred, leaning forward to pull open your yukata, to undo your shift and bare your skin to his eyes. His fingers glanced off of your stomach, causing you to inhale sharply, brushed over the fullness of your breasts, leaving them sensitive and untouched. “You will, though.” He bent down to suck at one nipple, his hands pinning yours above your head. You arched into his mouth, the sweep of his hair over your skin setting you on fire, sensation rushing through you like lightning.

“Sosuke,” you groaned, shifting and arching. He chuckled, slightly, mercilessly, and bit sharply one final time before lavishing the same attention on your other breast. You moaned and panted, cried and gasped. When he felt you were desperate enough, he let your other breast go, too, and moved his mouth down your stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses and red marks down to the apex of your thighs. He leaned back to look at you. 

“All mine,” he repeated, as if marveling at his luck. He released your hands and they went immediately to his head, tangling in his soft, dark hair. “Be good, now,” he warned you playfully, pushing two fingers into your entrance. You bucked your hips forward and gasped.

“And if I’m not?” You asked, breathy with desire and anticipation. He scissored his fingers, working them in and out, up and down, working you until you could hear the slick, wanton sounds of his fingers in your wetness. He smirked at you, dark and knowing.

“You will be,” he assured you, hitching one leg over his hip. His other hand stroked himself, working his already flushed cock towards further hardness. “Believe me.” He sank into you slowly, and your head fell back. You felt split open, exposed. He paused, and you could feel him twitching and throbbing inside of you. Your hands were pressed hard into his back and you let yourself relax with a sigh. The strain loosened, and you could feel him moving back. Short, shallow thrusts at first, rocking back and forth, out and in by increments.

And then faster. Stronger thrusts, deeper. As if he was trying to fuck himself into you, to leave a piece of himself to mark you forever. You felt him start to get into a rhythm, harsh, long thrusts, deeper and deeper into you, the friction and intensity driving you mad.

“So-,” you gasped, the syllables breaking off in your mouth. He thrust harder into you, and you clawed for purchase on his sweat-slick back. Your nails latched in, and you writhed beneath him. His thrusts became faster, more savage. Over and over, he worked himself into you. You could feel the warmth of him, the unbearable, inescapable heat of him inside of you.

“Say my name,” he commanded, and you obliged, letting it slip free of your lips with every breath.

“Sosuke. Sosuke. Sosuke. So-” You trembled, spasmed as he hit a place in you you couldn’t name. “Sosuke!”

“Mine,” he breathed into your neck, biting down on the soft flesh between shoulder and throat. You could feel the burn, twin pain and pleasure, between your legs and at your neck. You choked, gasped, wept.

“Sosuke,” you managed to spit out, as your world blew apart in white lighting and the scent of blood and roses. You could feel him fucking you through it as you came, could feel him choke out your name through his own release, could feel the hot, dirty burn of his come inside you, spilling out as he withdrew. You cried out when he plunged in two fingers, feeling him brush against your oversensitive walls again and again, almost working you up to the edge again, but it was too soon, too much. Pain and pleasure collided and you strained for the edge. He slipped his fingers out of you and you whimpered. You choked out his name and he smirked, offering you his hand.

“You’ve made such a mess,” he purred, eyes lighting up with delight as you took his come-covered fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean.  You could taste yourself, and him, salt and sweat and something darkly musky.  He watched you greedily, withdrawing his fingers and taking in the glittering drop of come that dripped from your lips. He swiped it off with his thumb and fed it to you. “Beautiful,” he said, running his other hand through your sweat-covered hair.

“Sosuke,” you asked softly, reaching up to twine a hand in his hair. “Stay with me.” He kissed your forehead. Tenderly, lingering. He pulled away and looked you in the eye.

“Of course.” He slid into bed beside you, drawing clean, cool sheets over your fevered skin. “You’re mine,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. You smiled faintly and buried your face in his chest. You fell asleep to the feeling of his hand stroking your hair.

**Author's Note:**

> -if aizen wants to fuck w someone i don’t think he’d mind cheating. It would just add to the agony of it all  
> \- but if he wants someone, and in this case he does, he wants all of them. He wants them to be his and nobody else’s. He doesn’t share, even when he’s done with you. You’re his forever.


End file.
